


Doing Things Right

by folkful



Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blackmail, Dacryphilia, Fantastic Racism, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Blood, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Spanking, Threats of Violence, again revyn i am so sorry, how the fuck did this end up so long, i dunno man i just type words with my bastard hands and then never look at them again, it's not fantastic, joar is nasty always, kind of, no beta we die like men, ropes, windhelm is cold as balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkful/pseuds/folkful
Summary: Left unsatisfied after the "interrogation" of Revyn Sadri, the Dragonborn comes back a second time.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Revyn Sadri
Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057886
Comments: 24
Kudos: 23





	Doing Things Right

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I was gonna make my second post an introduction to my other nasty Skyrim man, but this practically wrote itself.
> 
> Again, un-miss the tags if you missed them. This is fucked up, arguably more fucked up than the last one. It's not a good time. Or, I guess to me it is, because I wrote it. But if it's not your thing, please please skip it.
> 
> Comments, discussion, and constructive criticism are more than welcome, but if you're morally against me writing this (which is fine), just don't interact. No one has time to argue about this in the year of our lord 2020. I don't condone any of it irl.

It had been a week since Joar took Revyn Sadri, and his patience was running out quickly.

He'd felt content then, stumbled to bed in Hjerim way past midnight, and woken up with a mild headache and a throbbing erection. But later, he'd begun feeling frustrated, all he'd been unable to do to the elf stuck in his mind with no real outlet. By the next evening, he'd wanted to throw caution to the wind and make Sadri close up shop early, but Windhelm was a busy city, and Joar was a busy man, and when they were both put together, there was far too little free time. So he'd carried out tasks from the Jarl, gone over inventory with Calder, put up with the Giordano hag telling him (and everyone else with working ears) about the strange disappearance of her jewellery. All the while, he'd been full of agitated, pent up energy. It was similar to what he'd first felt while their little group had headed toward the Gray Quarter, restless and excited, but this time, it refused to leave him alone. He wasn't certain how many times he'd masturbated that week, but it only relieved the buzz for a short time. Especially once news spread of the break-in. Sadri must have obeyed Joar's last order, because he heard all kinds of stupid theories from those gathering at Candlehearth Hall to gossip. He'd heard many of the elves blamed the guards, which was fine, because he wasn't a guard. And if blame fell on him, Ulfric would take his word over Sadri's. If that happened, Joar would destroy the elf. Leave him in ruined, shattered pieces. 

Somehow, even that idea was enticing.

Finally came a mostly-quiet Tirdas, and by then, he figured he'd suffered enough. He ate dinner in silence, standing in the kitchen, busy imagining the next encounter with Sadri, cock already stirring. 

Soon, he stepped out into the Stone Quarter, wrapping a large fur cloak around himself to stave off the cold. He took the path through the inner yard of the Palace of Kings, down the stone stairs outside its gates, the opposite direction of last time. 

There weren't many people passing through the Gray Quarter at this hour. Too late to be coming home from work, too early to be coming home from the Cornerclub. Going up the stairs on the other side of the slum, he stopped in front of the wooden door to Sadri's Used Wares. 

He fished in his pocket for the key - it hadn't left there since he first took it, though he'd fidgeted with it discreetly more times than he could count. He went to unlock the door himself, then had a more interesting idea.

He left the key in its place, and instead knocked three times, loudly. He heard movement inside, and after a few moments of waiting more patiently than he'd thought himself capable of, the door was unlocked and creaked open.

He caught a glimpse of Sadri's face, his tired eyes, before Sadri took a look at him and the exhaustion was replaced with wild-eyed fear. He tried to close the door, but Joar stopped the attempt with his heavy boot, and Sadri took a few steps backwards into the store. Joar moved into the store, closing and locking the door behind him, then pinning the elf under his gaze. He did not miss the way the sleeves of his shirt covered his wrists. He hoped the rope-marks hadn't faded entirely.

The store had been tidied, but he still saw discoloured blotches on the floor where spilled potions had been wiped away. The evidence was there, if one only bothered to look.

"Get out," Sadri said, voice nearly quiet as a whisper. "Leave."

"Oh, no. Did you really think I was satisfied? Rutting you in silence like a beast was fun and all, but I want more than that. Away from prying eyes."

The merchant's face reddened, but he didn't give up.

"Get out." 

Joar shook his head, wearing an expression of mock-disappointment.

"We can do this one of two ways, gray-skin. You do as I say, or I make you. And if I have to make you, it will be agony. I'm stronger, I'm larger, I'm armed, and I have no qualms hurting you. I won't just be pulling hair or tying you too hard. I will break bones."

Sadri gave him a helpless, begging look, his breaths sharp and so rapid Joar worried he might pass out. He sighed.

"Come here."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the elf inched closer to the Nord, clearly fighting against his own fear, but having decided to do things the easy way. Joar was glad for it. He would have made good on the threat - he was a man of his word - but it would have been loud, undoubtedly, and a risk he did not need.

Once they were close enough, Joar reached out, ignoring the way Sadri flinched, stroking his hair, his cheek.

"That's good. Wasn't so hard, was it?"

The next step might be harder, though.

"Now, take off your clothes."

Sadri recoiled like Joar had pushed him. He gave the elf a stern look, clearly warning him, telling him to tread carefully. He supposed having to undress himself, under scrutiny, was more humiliating than the way Joar had tugged his pants down the last time, only baring enough to make room for the fuck. The knowledge made him feel intoxicated. Yes, he would do things right this time, make up for everything he had missed out on on account of the audience. There was no facade to keep up, nothing to prove. Finally, he'd get his due.

Appearing to steel himself, Sadri slowly began stripping off his shirt, hands shaking. Joar thought he might be shaking too, excitement rather than fear, and it was only bolstered when the elf's chest and stomach was revealed, and he could see some remaining, albeit fading, bruises against the gray skin. Stone-Fist's work, not his, but it looked beautiful. He would give him some new ones before this night was over, he decided. When he shrugged off the garment, Joar saw small scabs littering his wrists from where the ropes had been. He huffed an amused breath when Sadri proceeded to fold the shirt as neatly as he could manage, laying it on the counter. He hesitated before beginning to untie the laces in his trousers, stepping out of them one slim leg at a time. Joar let his eyes roam freely over the elf's skin, over the small softness of his stomach, over a mottled bruise on the back of his shoulder (left by Sylva), over his pretty inner thighs. He would get in between them soon enough. Sadri tried to ignore the Nord's gaze, finally taking a breath and removing his under-things, giving Joar the view he'd been looking forward to.

He took a vial out of his coat and put it in a tunic pocket before taking it off, hanging it on a loose board sticking out from the wall, not wanting to dirty it on the shop's floor. He kicked off his boots, and maneuvered smoothly through the room, laying a hand on Sadri's shoulder. He seemed to have frozen in place, and when he felt Joar's touch on him, he instinctively went to cover his exposed cock. The Nord's hand moved, grabbing a wrist, shifting it away.

"Such a tease, trying to hide from me." His other hand trailed down the elf's stomach, making him shiver. "Don't you dare. I've been waiting days for this."

The wandering hand found Sadri's limp prick, felt it up, liking the silkiness of the skin and the noises of distress the elf made. The vial felt like it burned in his pocket every second it wasn't used.

"I got us some proper oil this time. It'll make it easier on you."

Sadri was silent.

"Now, what do you say?"

The elf gave him a questioning look over his shoulder, eyes glazed over with tears from the humiliation of stripping and being groped. Joar met his eyes, uncompromising.

"Of course, I could always stick my fingers in you dry, if you'd rather be disrespectful."

"No!" He seemed to think for a moment, and then blurted out "I, er, th-thank you?"

"Good boy." Joar's eyes lit. "You ought to thank me properly, though. Come here. Get on your knees."

Sadri's brow furrowed, but he knelt gingerly in front of Joar, the cold Windhelm air on his naked flesh making him tremble. Joar took the vial out, placed it safely on the counter by the folded clothes, undid his belt, and pulled his tunic over his head, leaving him bare except for his dark pants.

"D'you know how suck a man off?"

The elf shut his eyes, mortified. When the reply came, his voice was uncertain.

"N-no."

Joar smiled, not reassuring in the slightest, and not intended to be.

"That's alright. You'll just have to learn, won't you?"

Much like last time, he opened his pants only enough to free his crotch. Not at all like last time, he took in the sight of the elf on his knees, nude, currently trying his best to avoid looking at him. Joar pushed the head of his cock against Sadri's cheekbone, making him wince and shudder in disgust.

"Again; you will obey, or I will make you obey."

He took a tight grip on his hair - still mesmerized by the way it defied gravity, and how much coarser it was than his own - and tugged hard, trying to inflict as much pain as he could. Sadri gasped, trying to move closer to the fist, loosen the strain. Joar let him go, but decided to take some mercy on him and guide him along the way.

"Start with the head. Use your tongue."

The elf looked away for a second, teeth worrying at his lower lip, and then he took a soft breath. Clearly wanting nothing more than to run away, find somewhere to hide, he opened his mouth slightly, tongue making light contact with Joar's head. The Nord shivered, precum pearling at his tip, and Sadri took a bit of the head in his mouth, almost immediately retching, teeth scratching Joar's warm flesh. 

"Watch it." Joar's voice was stern. "You nearly bit me. Put your lips over your teeth."

He tried again, with arguable success, but he'd done as he was told. Joar put a hand on the back of his head, pushing lightly. Honestly, he just wanted an excuse to touch that strange, coarse hair again. But the elf attempted to open wider, taking more of him in spite of his visible nausea, eyes watering.

They got into a rhythm eventually. Sadri was no good at it, horrible, if technique was all there was to it, but Joar was sighing and throbbing regardless. There was so much to appreciate. The way the inexperienced little thing couldn't keep from gagging and coughing, even though he wasn't taking the Nord all the way to the root. The way his hands hovered anxiously near Joar's legs, as if he'd wanted to put them somewhere but got lost along the way. His obvious shame, the tears that had built up in his eyes and begun trailing down his cheeks. Joar wiped one of the drops with his thumb. Perhaps it would have been comforting, if his other hand wasn't occupied pushing Sadri's mouth further onto his cock. 

He came for the first time that evening, almost sheathing himself inside of the hot mouth, spilling himself as the elf tried to breathe around the large intrusion. He pulled out, a string of saliva and come tethering them together. Sadri gagged around nothing, seed dribbling out of his mouth, down his chin. Joar took his face in his hands roughly, tipping it up, denying him the opportunity to spit it out.

"Swallow."

The elf had the audacity to shake his head. It was a plea, not a demand, but it drew out a surge of anger in Joar. His hands moved, one settling to cover Sadri's mouth, the other pinching his nose together, shutting off his air.

"Swallow.", he repeated. After a few moments, he did. Joar let him go, and he took a shuddering, gasping breath. The sound was lovely.

"For your own sake, you had better learn to do as I say, when I say." He caught the merchant again before he could drop, wiping the spilled come off his face with his sleeve gently. "I don't take orders from your kind. Gray-skins, or whores."

"I'm not a whore," he whispered, voice breaking. Joar studied him briefly, then gave a low hum of agreement.

"Right. Whores, at least, get paid. You're worse."

Aside from the elf's ears going red, there was no response, and Joar hadn't expected one. Instead, he crouched down, pressing his lips against Sadri's swollen ones, tasting a faint hint of salt. His teeth nipped at the elf's bottom lip, pulling a small noise from him until Joar swallowed the sound with a full, brutal kiss. Sadri barely tried to keep up, but did not push away.

"Stand up," he commanded afterwards, catching his breath. The elf's eyes were averted, and when Joar took one of his hands to lead him into the other room, he was struck by how cold he had become. The door was closed, but the walls were worn down and there was no way to escape the ruthlessness of the cold. He thought for a second he heard Sadri's teeth chatter. He took back the vial of oil.

The bedroom wasn't any warmer, but Joar was unbothered by it. A Nord's blood was different, another sign of their rightful claim to the land. They were made for Skyrim.

He ordered the elf onto the bed. He was still recovering from his first orgasm, though, and so instead of getting right into it, he removed the last of his clothing, settling on the side of the bed. Sadri was laying on his front, looking at Joar as though he was Alduin himself. One of his fists were clenched in his moth-eaten blanket. His forearms were covered in goose-bumps. Joar smiled, stroking a warm hand over the skin, and the elf sighed despite himself.

"Don't move," he warned. He got a quick nod in reply.

The back of Sadri's gray body was all on display.

Joar laid down three sharp, highly satisfying smacks to his arse, watching the skin grow a warm, red tone. The elf gasped, turning his head toward the Nord.

"I didn't move.", he said quietly, the question obvious.

"I know." He slapped him again. 

"Then - oh! - why?"

"Because I want to."

He continued, the cheeks and upper thighs slowly turning uneven shades of pink and red. Sadri was making little groans of discomfort, pressing his face into the bedsheets. Joar's cock had begun to stiffen again. 

Finally, he uncorked the vial of oil, slicking up the first three fingers on his right hand. Then, he dripped a little onto his other hand, gently palming over his own prick, working through the oversensitivity.

"Spread your legs," he told Sadri, biting back a groan.

"Please...please don't." The elf's voice was hoarse, and tears had begun running down his face again, leaving little dark spots in the sheets. "You...finished. Just be done, please."

Joar's eyes narrowed, voice taking on a harsh edge as he looked down at the terrified man under him.

"I'm done when I say I'm done." He gripped Sadri's free hand with his left, taking a painful hold of his fingers. "Be good, and spread your legs, and I won't break one of these."

The merchant released a strangled whimper into the mattress, but eased his legs apart, trying to relax his body, shoulders and ass flexing slightly. Joar let go of his hand, and then moved back, settling between his knees. Without much further ado, his oiled index finger began prodding at Sadri's dark gray hole. 

"Please," he whispered, sniffling, but did not move. Wanting to catch him off-guard, Joar stilled for a moment, and then inserted the first two fingers at once, using twisting, wrenching motions. The elf groaned open-mouthed, barely controlling airy, gasping noises, and Joar felt his legs tighten around him.

"Do I need to tie you down again, or can you stay still?", he asked, still moving his fingers in and out.

"I don't - know, I-"

"If you move, or close your legs like last time, I'll punish you."

Sadri dissolved into rough sobs, fighting the urge to curl in on himself.

"Then, t-tie me," he whispered. "But please, please, not so hard."

Joar stabbed his fingers in one last time, thinking to tell him he would tie him as hard as he damn well pleased, but only nodding. He withdrew the digits, wiping his hand on the blanket - it couldn't get much uglier - and gave the elf a final smack to the ass.

"Stay there."

As it turned out, finding two lengths of rope on the shelves was easy, but while searching for it, he also found something else. Hidden away in a drawer was a ring, crafted from gold, plain aside from a small, etched pattern decorating either side of it. It would be unassuming, had he not had it described to him in excruciating detail, several times, by one Viola Giordano.

He wasn't surprised one of the gray-skins had been the thief, but he  _ was  _ surprised it had been Sadri. There were plenty of shadier residents, Sadri did not move like a thief, and aside from having let Joar in when he'd knocked, did not seem like one to invite trouble. He put the ring in the pocket of his coat, still hanging on the wall, and entered the bedroom with renewed energy and enough rope to keep the elf tied to the bed. It was Sadri's fault, then, that the thrice-damned woman wouldn't stop complaining. 

Justice came when it was deserved, he supposed.

He tied the merchant's legs, first, the rope sitting tight around each ankle. It would rub the skin red if he struggled too much, but Joar was past the point of caring, mind only occupied with dark lust and the will to take out his annoyance with Giordano on the elf. 

When he went to tie his hands, he remained there, listening to Sadri's muffled, but increasingly controlled sobbing, fingers trailing over the little scabs on his wrists. Tying him again would likely open them, maybe make them larger, create bruises. Enjoying that idea, he pulled harder than he needed to while tying them, giving enough space that Sadri could move his hands a little, but not enough to reach back or get anywhere. The only way he could move was backwards, closer to Joar. He was rather proud of his handiwork.

He sat back on the bed behind Sadri's legs, reapplied oil to his fingers, continuing where he'd left off and inserted his first two fingers. The hole had tightened up again, and the elf gave a low whine as Joar pumped him viciously, legs twitching uselessly. Sooner than what would be even remotely comfortable, the third finger slipped in, meeting resistance but breaking it with harsh movements. Sadri yelled wordlessly, once more gripping the worn sheets, hiding his face. Joar only prepared him briefly, before removing his pants entirely, gripping the elf's hips and maneuvering him back so his ass stuck up a little. Then, he began guiding his cock into him, holding him up by the waist, bending to bite into the back of his neck, putting enough force into it to feel skin break. The feeling of Sadri's hole contracting around him, and the slight taste of warm blood in his mouth, made him feel heady with pleasure. Even their blood was different, he thought, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps the tang of iron was stronger.

He began a rhythm of pulling out nearly all the way, only to slam back in again so hard that the impact of his hips against Sadri's buttocks almost hurt. His hands left the elf's waist, and he instead put his weight with both hands on the back of his neck, pushing his face into the bed and getting the blood from the bite-mark on his palm. He relished in the broken, choked noises coming from Sadri, from the pressure of the mattress on his throat and the way his face was pushed down in a way that made it impossible to breathe easily. He was crying again, wretched, shaky, and his wrists strained. Joar did not let go until the sounds grew in desperation and pitch. Sadri drew a long breath, interspersed with the sound of the thrusts knocking air from his lungs. He turned his face to the side, cheek against the pillow, tears blotting his face and the fabric in little rivers.

"Divines, you were made for this. For me."

Joar leaned in and mouthed at his neck, stopping to nip and suck at one spot, leaving a dark red mark under his jaw. He wondered how the merchant would try and cover it up. Perhaps he'd visit, just to watch him try and carry on like nothing had happened, like everything was alright. 

He hoped he haunted him even while he was away. 

That was the thought that pushed him over the edge. He came, biting down on Sadri's shoulder, again tasting salty blood and cold sweat. The elf went entirely limp, boneless, not bothering trying to contain his weeping. Joar rested there, not pulling out of the mess he'd made, pressing light kisses to the raised skin of the marks left by his teeth. His limbs buzzed, and finally, for the first time in a week, Joar felt truly sated. Perhaps, this should worry him, the way he felt as though he needed this, to take the elf, watch him fall apart. Perhaps, in another life, he would have cared. But flesh and blood were traitors, and he was coming to terms with the extent of the betrayal. He'd take his relief from the enemy. And the Gray Quarter was the enemy of Windhelm. 

He came back into his body slowly, regained the will to move, pulled back enough that his over-sensitized cockhead popped out of the merchant's hole. His thrusts had been hard enough that small, symmetrical bruises were beginning to bloom on Sadri's buttocks. He pressed one last, soft kiss to one of them.

He left the merchant tied as he got dressed, retrieved his coat, the knife in his belt, one he'd never used in battle. He would use it to untie the ropes, once he'd gotten something else straight. He crouched in front of Sadri's face to meet his eyes, taking in the red of his eyes and the distant look of pain adorning him.

"Look at me."

He did so, hesitantly. Joar reached into his pocket and took out the ring, holding it up between them.

"Give me one good reason not to take this to the Jarl."

Sadri gave him a panicked, desperate look, and his words were hoarse and strained.

"Please, I - I bought it from a traveller, I didn't know, not until hearing about Viola. I'm not a th-thief, please-"

That made more sense. With his poor handling of stress and and the lack of thief's grace, he doubted Sadri could steal a toy from a child, let alone jewellery from Giordano, a woman who Joar swore could spot him from a mile away when she had gossip to share.

"Will Ulfric believe that? Will Viola Giordano? Do you think they'll appreciate having a thieving gray-skin in their midst?"

Sadri looked bone-tired.

"What...what do you want from me?"

"Your silence. And your obedience. I can tell them whenever I like, and you had better remember that."

Joar pocketed the ring again, hearing a quiet  _ clink _ as it landed on top of the key.

He stood, cutting the merchant's ankles loose. There was no blood on either side, but the skin was an angry red. Even after he'd freed them, Sadri's legs lay limply on the bed. The wrists were much worse for the wear, worse even than last time. The coarse rope had rubbed the scabs off, as well as small patches of his smooth skin. Purple-red bruises stood out against the gray, and one spot was bleeding sluggishly. With all limbs freed, Sadri curled up, pulling the blanket over himself as well as he could manage, shivering with cold and the pain of movement. 

Joar left him like that, closing and locking the door behind him when he left, going over options in his head. Handing the ring to Giordano would shut her up, at least in this regard, but he liked having this new leverage.

He wondered, as he opened the door to Hjerim, how far that leverage would let him go.


End file.
